


50 Heartbeats Away From Romance

by RenderedReversed



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: "cuddly"!gave up war!nonmagical/venomous snake!Voldemort, Canon Compliant, Character Development, Cute, Fate works in strange ways, Fluff, HP: EWE, Hogwarts Professor!mature!kinda powerful!Harry, Hopeful Ending, Identity Issues, Journey of Self Discovery, M/M, Maybe - Freeform, Out of Character, Serious, mind the title, seer!TMR-LV/HP shipper!happy!Luna Lovegood, very light slash
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-05-10
Updated: 2014-06-10
Packaged: 2018-01-24 04:23:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 17,434
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1591592
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RenderedReversed/pseuds/RenderedReversed
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Harry finds an oddly cuddly pet in the Dark Lord, and Voldemort finds a sanctuary for his heart in his old nemesis. Fate had never been so strange.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

Fate worked in strange ways. Voldemort knew that, and he would’ve admitted to knowing it very, _very_ well if not for the tiny fact that he didn’t believe in destiny. Not anymore. Not since that blasted prophecy had only come true because he had _made_ it come true—not that he had done it on purpose, of course.

And he was really, _really_ tired of being the butt of the metaphorical joke that whatever beings above loved to make of him. If there was anything good about this situation—what with being in the middle of nowhere, slithering about the undergrowth, cold and hungry, the memory of his defeat a humiliating and shameful experience even though it had taken place several years ago—it was that he was alive. Somehow.

Because Lord Voldemort had truly believed that the minute his killing curse rebounded _again_ (only for the second time, but killing curses weren’t supposed to be reflected anyways, which made the achievement rather noteworthy) that he was dead. Would be. But he wasn’t.

Life was a complex beast, too mysterious and sporadic for humans to understand. And because Voldemort knew that, he accepted—for the most part—the fact that he was a snake, and _not_ dead, like he knew he should be. The Dark Lord had quite a bit of time already to ponder over the workings of the universe, and he was no closer to discovering it than he was when he had graduated Hogwarts.

For Salazar’s sake, was he _supposed_ to live? Since he had gone about fearing Death for so long, cheating it even, he had assumed that, if anything, the beings above _wanted_ him to die… after all, the prophecy had been a rather big hint that it was his time to go. But had he? _No._ He hadn’t. He was still alive and actually healthy, if one ignored the fact that he was, for all intents and purposes, a normal snake with no real amazing attributes other than having the brains of a wizard.

But those brains weren’t exactly helping his case right now. The forest he was in seemed to go on forever and Voldemort wondered whether or not he was actually slithering around in circles. He had survived here for so long, and yet he felt there was no way out. It was just his luck that winter time was coming around again and he unfortunately had no shelter this time.

Would he die now, as a snake? Was this how the great and terrible Dark Lord Voldemort would end? To the consistency of nature? So foggy were his thoughts and so sluggish his movements that he hardly registered the light footsteps that were coming closer and closer until they were right next to him.

“Oh! Sorry there, I didn’t see you,” exclaimed an almost familiar male’s voice. “What are you doing out here? It’s going to snow soon, don’t you know?”

Vaguely, Voldemort wondered if the human was actually talking to him… but who would talk to snakes?

The man crouched down, and the Dark Lord could almost _taste_ the warmth radiating off of him. _So tantalizing…_ Admittedly, the thought of a human’s body warmth excited him and gave him hope. It had been so long, and he had taken for granted the wonders of being a human—which included producing his own body heat—that the mere chance he would be picked up was enough to make him raise his head slowly.

Vaguely he registered a hand out in front of him, almost offering, and Voldemort took the chance to slither up and coil about the man’s arm. Instantly the heat hit him and he hissed in pleasure.

The last thing he registered was the soft comment of, “you’re oddly cuddly for a snake…” before he slept.

* * *

When he woke up, it was to heat that he had never thought he would feel again—the warmth of a house. Along his senses he also noted the tingling of magic, telling him the man who had picked him up was, in a general sense, a wizard. That suited him just fine.

Though Voldemort might’ve been ambitious, perhaps even still now, he had long given up on becoming “human” again, if his old form could even be called that. No, he admittedly didn’t want to go back to a life that only held frustrations and stress, where his goals were so huge they dictated his every waking moment. Now that he was a snake, he had come to like the simpler things in life, like food and water and safe shelters away from predators. And to be honest? He preferred this simplicity.

So the fact that he was living with a wizard now did not make him think upon the possibility of reverting to his old form again—it made him think how much easier it would be with magic to live here, as there would always be constant warmth and the access of magic to supply that warmth, not to mention conjured mice and, in general, better means for comfort. Muggles always overcomplicated _everything_.

Lazily he came back to his senses from his little nap, taking in everything to find he was still wrapped about the wizard’s arm. Voldemort glanced up to see his savior’s face, only to be left utterly shocked.

“Oh! So you’ve woken up, I see,” Harry-bloody-Potter smiled down at him. “Not that I mind having a snake on my arm, but do you mind if I move you now? It’s sort of hard to cook with you there.”

In retrospect, he should’ve figured this out. Though he could understand English as well as any other British wizard one would come across, he hadn’t realized that most people couldn’t understand the language that the man was speaking in… because it wasn’t English—which made that previous comparison sound completely out of place, but with the fog of sleep his mind worked in strange ways— _no_ , it was _Parseltongue_.

Voldemort could hear it now, very keenly too. There was a certain hissy quality to Parseltongue, a certain difference in pitch and intonation when heard.

And there was, to his knowledge, only two people in Britain that spoke the snake language… himself, and Harry Potter.

Out of instinct he reared back into the S curve that snakes were known to make before striking, and he watched as Potter blinked in surprise, but did nothing more than that.

“Hey, I’m not going to hurt you,” he said, “you’re alright now. Something bad must’ve happened, right? I’ve never seen a snake just… _out there_ on the brink of winter. Was your shelter destroyed?”

 _Potter_ … His old feelings about his once nemesis came rushing back to him; all of the hate and _loathing_ and _frustration_ over the fact that he could not kill this single boy. But he could—kill him, he meant—right here, right now. Voldemort knew that he was poisonous, not what breed he was but at least he was rather deadly if the speed his victims died at was taken into consideration, and here was his chance. He could off the Potter brat in a fit of revenge, and then—

And then—

_Then what?_

What would he accomplish with killing him here? Wizards weren’t overly fond of snakes. They would find him here eventually, and put him in some pet shop in Knockturn Alley, or maybe just toss him out in the wild to fend for himself. Voldemort would go back to being cold, lost, hungry, without a shelter and without anything he felt was familiar again.

The magic that he had first felt and was _still_ feeling called to him, like an old friend whose melodic voice was beckoning.

Perhaps when he first became a snake, he would’ve offed Potter the second he had seen him, no questions asked—whether he was poisonous or not didn’t count—but now?

Voldemort had never been a social creature, preferring the company of books and paper over other fellow wizards, but he had to admit—he had been _lonely_ throughout these years.

 _How utterly depressing. Looks like I can’t kill the brat after all._ So he relaxed his stance, almost with a sulky pout upon his face if snakes could pout or sulk at all, and hissed—very cautiously—his reply. _“I never had one to begin with.”_

Instantly, Potter’s face became sympathetic. “Oh, you poor thing… must’ve been abandoned, right? By some wizard who was deluded by some tripe about snakes being the personification of evil?”

 _“How can you tell I was—_ had been _with a wizard?”_ Voldemort asked curiously, slipping up momentarily.

Potter blinked. “That’s easy. There’s sort of a… er…. Hm. I guess you could say there’s just a _feel_ of magic around you, like you’ve been in contact with it for a long time. If you were a human I would’ve said that you were a wizard, but you’re a snake, so that either means that you’re magical or you were a pet to someone who possessed magic and didn’t hide it.”

 _“Oh._ ” He felt Potter’s arm resume movement, and glanced down to see him cutting some vegetables on a cutting board.

“You know, you’re sort of weird for a snake. Usually when I meet one, they’re all like _“Oh! A speaker! What an honor to be in your presence!”_   It’s sort of nice to have a change.”

Voldemort sneered. _“Do you prefer I do just that? I can say it now.”_

Potter laughed. “Silly, I just told you it was nice to have a change. It’s sort of awkward to have a snake say that to you anyways, and it makes me feel bad too because I’m not really a _natural_ speaker…”

_“No?”_

He shrugged, the movement causing Voldemort to shift a bit. “Apparently not. A... another wizard who had the ability unconsciously gave it to me, I guess you could say.”

_“…Hm.”_

A silence fell over them, broken only when Potter exclaimed loudly, “Oh! I completely forgot! You’re probably hungry, aren’t you? Sorry about that!”

Voldemort blinked. Oh, right… he had forgotten. His hunger hit him with a full force, and he inwardly grimaced. _How_ had he _forgotten_?

“Here. A rabbit. You need something big, right? What with how hungry you probably are…” The wizard waved his hand, stopping his work for a bit to easily conjure a white rabbit. It scampered away hastily, but it had already caught Voldemort’s interest and the snake easily unwound his body and lowered himself slowly to the floor, where he then took off like a dart and quickly captured his prey.

His poison did not take long to spread. The rabbit was dead within the next few seconds.

 Once he had successfully taken in the whole lagomorphs, Voldemort turned back around to stare at Potter, his body forming an impromptu coil. Unexpectedly, the wizard was looking at him with not _disgust_ , but admiration and respect.

“Snakes really are beautiful creatures,” he heard Potter murmur. “It’s a shame most people don’t think so…”

 _“You think me beautiful?”_ Voldemort hissed without really thinking. _“Me, a serpent, the_ personification of evil _?”_

Potter laughed. He abandoned his cutting board and simmering pot to walk towards him and crouch down. “Yeah,” he replied softly, “I do. You know, when I actually noticed you in the forest I can’t believe I didn’t see you sooner. Must be blind, huh? What kind of person _doesn’t_ notice a large, albino snake on the ground? _Huh_ … now that I look closer you’ve got this pretty shade of red in your scales too…”

He wondered whether he should be flattered or affronted for being called “pretty”. Voldemort decided he would let the comment slide, but he didn’t really know what to make of it when Potter reached out a hand and scratched his scales in _exactly the right spot…_

 _“Oh,_ ” he hissed, _“hmm… that feels wonderful._ Don’t _stop.”_

Potter laughed again, softer this time, and continued his indulgence. “Hey, would you like to… would you like to stay with me? I mean, I know I’m a wizard like the stupid one that threw you out, but it’s sort of lonely out here in the middle of nowhere…”

 _“If you were like that wizard then I would’ve bitten you already,”_ Voldemort found himself saying, _“though arguably you’re_ even more _stupid for offering to take me in.”_

He smiled. “Really? I don’t think so at all.”

If snakes could sigh, Voldemort would’ve done so.

* * *

“Oh geez, I haven’t even told you my name yet, have I?” Potter asked as he washed the dishes. Voldemort didn’t know _why_ he just didn’t clean them with magic, but to each their own he supposed. “I’m Harry Potter. Nice to meet you.”

The Dark Lord would’ve snorted if snakes could snort. _“I know_ ,” he said before he could stop himself.

“You… know?” He looked up to find Potter looking at him with a raised eyebrow.

 _“The wizard I lived with… read newspapers. The_ Prophet _, I think?”_ Voldemort scrambled for an excuse, “ _I saw a picture of you. The Boy-Who-Lived, yes?”_

Potter unexpectedly grimaced. “Yeah… that’s me. I hate that title though.”

_“Oh?”_

He shrugged dismally. “It’s just not… me. But the public wants what the public wants, I guess.” And that was it.

“So… uh… what’s your name?”

 _“You presume I have one?”_ Snakes didn’t have eyebrows to raise. “ _I’m a_ snake. _”_

“But you had a previous owner. What’d he call you?”

Voldemort’s mind raced. He needed an excuse. He needed an excuse. He needed an excuse— _“I don’t want to be called whatever name that foolish wizard gave me,”_ he spat.

Potter bit his lip. He finished up the dishes, putting them back in their respective places once they were squeaky clean, and leaned against the counter before turning back to his serpentine companion. “Then… can _I_ name you?—I mean it’d be sort of awkward just saying _hey you_ , even if you’re the only other living thing here—“

 _“Do what you want_ ,” muttered the snake.

“…What about ‘Tom’?”

Voldemort froze, but not for long. Stuck in between the instinct to flee or check whether or not his old enemy knew who he was, the Dark Lord ended up twisting his body around, forming loops with his tail as he stared directly at him. Potter seemed to be looking at him too. _“…Tom,”_ the snake hissed slowly, trying to hide his slip.

Potter seemed to take it as _“what in the name of Morgana made you think of_ Tom _?”_

He smiled sheepishly. “Yeah,” he shrugged, “I—“here, he looked away,”—well, a long time ago, I knew of a boy named ‘Tom’. He was a lot like you, I think, and—“silence.

It was broken when Voldemort huffed, or more like the snake equivalent of a huff. _“Didn’t I tell you to do what you want?”_ he hissed before slithering away, completely missing the soft, nostalgic look that flickered across Potter’s face before it disappeared.

* * *

The days passed as quickly as they came, filled with lulling peace and a solidity Voldemort admitted he had not experience in awhile. But it wasn’t lonely at all—as much as he hated to say it, Potter made good company.

He wondered how far they were away from civilization, or where they were in the first place, but he never asked. _This place_ , he found, was Potter’s sanctuary, away from the hounding reporters and away from the gawking crowd. This was the place where he didn’t need to be a hero, didn’t need to be a leader, and it showed.

For one, Voldemort found that the Boy-Who-Lived liked gardening.

Out back behind the cottage, which was relatively modest considering the savior of the Wizarding World owned it, was a beautiful garden filled with both magical and non-magical plants, some considered quite rare in the profession of potions. It was kept completely snow-free, charmed to be the right environment year-long. The Dark Lord could laze for hours out here, naming those around him in his mind, recognizing them with but a glance and then perhaps even thinking back on how he knew them and what they were used for. It was _relaxing_. He had knowledge for the sake of having knowledge, and now he _knew it_.

He was impressed by the amount of plants he _didn’t know_ as well, and instead of simply turning away and thinking them useless because he hadn’t spent the time to learn them, like he would’ve long ago, he decided he _needed_ to know _all_ of them purely for the sake of knowing them and being satisfied with that.

It certainly wouldn’t be hard. Potter knew them all by heart, and he was more than happy to share with his new roommate.

 _“Why didn’t you become a herbologist?”_ Voldemort asked one day as he watched his ‘owner’ tend to a group of magical flowers.

Potter turned to him, looking a bit pensive and surprised. “I like gardening,” he began slowly, “but I don’t have a gift for it. I’m not Neville—he was a boy who attended school with me—who has a knack for tending to plants.”

 _“You don’t need a_ gift _to become something,”_ pointed out the snake.

“True. But… well… I’m a bit _different_ , I guess. I mean, think about it. What would the world say if their _savior_ , who was no older than a boy seventeen years old and didn’t have a lick of pre-eleven magical training, mind you—“the bitterness showed in his tone”—grew up and said he wanted to be a _herbologist_? I might not fall to peer pressure as easily as some people do, but that doesn’t mean I’m not affected. It was smarter to do what I do now.”

_“And what is it that you do?”_

Potter blinked. “I haven’t said? Wow. Sorry about that. I work at Hogwarts, as the Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher. You know Hogwarts, right?”

 _“School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, yes,”_ affirmed Voldemort for the sake of keeping up his persona. _“The… human who previously had me in his care had a… son who went there.”_

The wizard hummed in reply, turning back to his plants. “Well, yeah. I’m a professor there. Most people thought I would go on to become an Auror, but frankly I’m tired of fighting and dealing with all that Ministry crap, so I chose Hogwarts. Safe choice, media _mostly_ can’t get to me, and guess what? Free summers, which is why I can stay here.”

_“Who tends to your plants when you’re gone?”_

Potter wrinkled his nose. “House elves. I honestly have nothing against them—I’ll introduce you later, they usually take care of the other Potter estates—but this is my hobby. I like doing it myself. It’s just… what I do. Gardening has always been relaxing, even if it was under the beating hot sun while dehydrated.”

Voldemort raised his head from the coil he had been relaxing in. _“Why in the name of Merlin would you ever subject yourself to_ that _?”_ he asked in slow disbelief.

“Uhh… well…” he shrugged nervously while biting his lip. “Things happen?”

 _“Try to lie to me again and I’ll bite you,”_ the Dark Lord lazily hissed, _“or at least if it’s a pathetic lie like_ that _. At least be a bit more inventive.”_

He looked appropriately sheepish. “…When I was a kid,” he began quietly after taking a breath, “I lived with my relatives on my mother’s side. To be completely honest, they were terrible, horrid people, and I only came to accept this… after. But, to get to the point, they made me do most if not all their chores, like cooking, cleaning, weeding, whatever to keep me tired and busy, and I guess gardening was the best. Outside during the summer I was away from my screaming aunt, and my whale of a cousin couldn’t harass me lest he be seen by the neighbors, since the garden I tended to was in the front of the house. My uncle was too busy watching the tele inside to bother me either. I could go at whatever pace I wanted, as long as I got it done at the appointed time…so yeah. Weeding, watering, tending to the flowers… it just felt like a break to me.”

 _“…Did they hit you?”_ Voldemort asked quietly.

“Not as much as you would think,” Potter admitted, “and not as direct either. My uncle would grab me and throw me into my cupboard sometimes, and that might’ve left some bruises. My aunt hit me with a frying pan once when she was angry that I burned the bacon. Dudley had a whole gang that bullied me, but I was a fast runner, so they usually couldn’t catch me. Mostly they denied me food and water for maybe a day or two, and they screamed a lot… so it could’ve been worse.”

 _“Worse…_ ” the snake hissed, as if to test the taste of the word on the tongue.

The wizard quickly took the opportunity to change the subject. “So, yeah. Gardening’s my hobby now. It’s nice to watch things grow, and you saw my herbs and vegetables in the back, didn’t you? It’s nice to be able to eat fresh produce too. Sure, the house elves can buy the freshest off the market, but it’s not the same as picking it yourself.”

Voldemort settled down into his coil again. _“I suppose.”_ He looked up when he felt Potter’s gaze upon him.

“…You know, you’re sort of strange for a snake. You talk like you’re a wizard—a human. But I guess there have been stranger things in life,” Potter said, a wry smile dancing across his lips. “I know I’ve experienced my fair share of them.”

 _“Sssss… indeed?”_ the Dark Lord tilted his triangular face to the side, almost like an expression of thoughtfulness if he weren’t a snake. _“Tell me,”_ he hissed quietly, _“tell me your stories, Harry.”_

A genuinely soft look appeared on the wizard’s face and, as he sat down, put his tools to the side, took off his gloves and settled, the Wizarding World’s youngest hero spun tales of his misadventures and encounters with the strangest and the most dangerous magical creatures to his old nemesis.

* * *

“Ah, geez!” Potter exclaimed as he stood up and stretched. He had been working in the garden all afternoon, the evidence of dirt covering his old shirt and jeans. A tired smile appeared on his face.

“I’m going to take a shower. Want to join me?” he asked, looking down at his lazy pet snake.

Voldemort lifted his head. He had, admittedly, been dozing off, used to the routine by now with one week and counting under his metaphorical belt of experience staying here. The days were filled with a sort of peace that made him feel utterly comfortable falling asleep just about anywhere, and he took to doing so with a fatigue that had only just been settling into his conscious. It was nice to relax, now that he had the chance. Not to mention, Potter had been surprisingly good at guessing whether or not he was napping or not, which meant he almost never woke by surprise. Life was good.

And a bath actually sounded... excellent right now. Just imagining the steam of the hot water, the lazy atmosphere, the smooth tiles and the heat that would be trapped inside… _“Very well,”_ the Dark Lord hissed, and slithered inside the house. Behind him, Potter chuckled.

The bathroom was not a room Voldemort was _too_ acquainted with, but he knew it was rather big and spacious, with the shower on the side instead of over the bathtub. That was all well and fine with him—he was able to find a nice spot on the tiles to settle down on, which Potter generously warmed with a heating charm before undressing himself.

The water itself came out hot instantly, what with the wonders of magic and all that. True to his thoughts, the steam felt _wonderful_ , clogging up the room and allowing the warmth to thoroughly caress the snake’s scales. Voldemort unconsciously hissed in pleasure.

Potter laughed. “Maybe I’ll take you with me more often,” he mused.

 _“Perhaps you should_ ,” the snake agreed.

Luckily for him, his wizard decided to enjoy his shower too, taking the time to wash the grime of the day away but _also_ simply standing there, relishing the spray of the water and how it was the small things that were the biggest luxuries.

Voldemort could smell the soap and shampoo, which was as neutral of a scent as it could get, and completely non-scented to a human’s nose. Somehow he found it predictable that the person who had defeated him all those years ago was, in actuality, not all too special to begin with. Potter wasn’t like _any other person_ that you found across the street though, that was a fact—but he _wanted_ to be normal, to be average, to enjoy anonymity, and that made all the difference.

The Dark Lord stared at the wizard’s back thoughtfully, letting these kinds of observations swim in his mind. Yes, Potter was utterly _human_ , only his wants were what everyone else had, and what _he_ had were everyone else’s wants. Who _didn’t_ want to be famous? To be known by name? To have fulfilled some great, honorable deed and hold influence over the crowd’s every thought and view of the world? Not Harry Potter, that was for sure, but he had it anyways.

Did Harry Potter _look_ like a hero? He hadn’t, not back then when he was a scrawny teenager. _Short_ , Voldemort remembered. He had been short in his first year, and then when he saw him next in the boy’s fourth it had been after his growth spurt. Potter had been taller then, though his build was definitely still small and light, just as his father’s. Thin, most definitely, but now the Dark Lord wondered whether or not that was natural… or caused by the boy’s home life.

But that had been then, and this was now. Potter was still thin, but his stature was tall, in ways other than physical height. He had developed the calm, subtle aura of someone who caught everyone’s eyes in the room, stole away all the attention, _enraptured_ the crowd no matter if they knew him as the Boy-Who-Lived or not. Voldemort himself had that aura in his youth, and had used it to charm many of his first followers… but Potter did not do anything of the sort. He merely left it as it was, in its natural state, not to be used or manipulated to suit his own desires.

The boy he had known and loved to hate was no longer present. Harry Potter had grown up, his muscles defined but not overly so, in a way that could be seen as attractive. His hair was definitely still the bird’s nest it had been, but now there was a charm to it that added to his _flavor_ , where before when he was a teen it had simply looked like he had not cared about his appearance. And perhaps that had been so. Being the primary target for a rampaging Dark Lord didn’t leave a lot of time for gazing vainly into a mirror.

And somehow Voldemort’s thoughts began to lead him to the more… domestic views. How many girls had the Wizarding World’s savior been through? Was he dating _now_? Or did Potter just have one-night flings? He didn’t seem to be the type, in all honesty, but who knew what had changed. The wizard was still utterly unpredictable. Was he the teacher at Hogwarts who had the whole female student body after him, batting their eyelashes pettily in hope of catching his attention?

Voldemort had to admit, they would have no qualms fantasizing about what was under their professor’s robes, but rarely would they ever come close to the real thing—or something like he was seeing now. The spray of the shower was strong, and Potter was standing directly in it, letting the water cascade down his back as well as his chest. Muscles and multiple scars proved to be an obstacle course for the droplets that raced down, down, down, all the way from his shoulders to his ankles.

And though Potter was not unmarred, his pale flesh looked smooth and inviting, as if begging for someone to mark him up with love bites and scratches influenced by the rushed nature of sex.

The wizard brought both of his hands to his head, lathering shampoo into his hair. Voldemort found he could not take his eyes away as the force of the water dragged the foam down with it, following the exact same paths that had been taking, taunting and teasing as it slid so effortlessly down the very male body and into the drain.

Only when Potter let out a sigh of contentment did the Dark Lord realize what he was doing and turn away.

 _Salazar, had he_ really _been checking out the Boy-Who-Lived?!_

A shudder wracked his body, and Voldemort tried to ignore how forced it felt, and how it could simply _not_ be in disgust, as he had secretly _enjoyed_ the view he had gotten and—

“Are the tiles too cold? Maybe my heating charm was too weak…”

The snake’s head snapped back to the wizard that was looking at him rather questioningly. _“It is adequate,”_ he hissed slowly, tongue darting in and out of his mouth.

Potter hummed. “Maybe next time it would be better if you’re around my neck,” he said, still under the assumption that his new pet snake was cold, “we’ll have to test it later, I guess.”

Voldemort’s mind _did not_ short circuit. It _really_ didn’t.

 A nonchalant flick of Potter’s wrist stopped the flow of hot water, and the wizard reached out into thin air and silently summoned a towel to himself from across the bathroom.

_Power…_

“Hungry?” he asked obliviously as while drying his hair. “I’ll conjure a nice big rat for you once dinner’s ready.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I thought I'd never finish this!!! Gah, I'm so proud of myself!!!! Yay!!!!!!!!!!
> 
> If you follow me on FFnet, you may remember this from the Sneak Peek chapter (now removed) from The Game ;). I'll be posting this on FFnet soon too, but for now Ao3 gets it because my lovely readers here are absolutely lovely and very patient with me........
> 
> Please enjoy in apology for lack of updating Nature versus Nurture, though I admit if you're reading this in hopes of some awesome bestiality or porn, or slashy goodness in general, you're going to be disappointed... (come on, I just wrote you guys some weird crack femslash, don't expect me to hand out ALL the goods)
> 
> This is a fluff... ish fic. Lighthearted at the core, I think. 
> 
> And no there is no sequel you'll just have to deal with 4 chapters haha ;~;.... Too much of my heart was shoved into this.


	2. Chapter 2

Today they decided to stay inside, for the most part. Voldemort quietly lounged on the back of a comfortable couch, his body also partly slung around Potter’s neck. The wizard was currently reading some book on how to raise pet snakes, something they both found mildly ludicrous because half of the things written either a) caused discomfort or b) were wrong.

The author was clearly an amateur writer, and hadn’t done his research properly. Potter confided the only reason he picked it up on sale at Diagon Alley was because he needed a good laugh.

“I guess you can’t really blame ‘em. Snakes are probably the most least understood pets of this century,” he murmured. “Thanks to Voldemort’s campaign, pet shops have had it rough. No one wants a snake anymore, unless they’re a completely clueless muggleborn with a desire for a scaly pet or a dark pureblood…”

  _“Figures British wizards would have such narrow views,”_ the Dark Lord hissed in reply.

Potter shrugged. “What can you do? No one cares enough about something as mundane as _pets_ to make any difference in that department.”

 _“_ You _care. Why don’t you try?”_

“I admit it’s a bit of my selfishness that comes into play,” the wizard confessed. “The public sees me as either completely good or completely down-to-the-bone rotten. If I suddenly decide to advocate the widespread care of snakes and dark creatures, instead of listening I bet they’d run my name through the mud for the billionth time. I’d rather keep the safety of the current status quo, which would allow me to command in a dire situation, instead of forcing change and dealing with the unsavory consequences.”

Voldemort was impressed. Several years ago, that particular answer would not have been the case—Potter would’ve just been a Gryffindor about the whole situation once he noticed it rather than being a snake and weighing the pros and cons. The Dark Lord decided he liked _this_ Potter better.

A knock at the door raised both of their heads from the book they were currently mocking.

“Hermione… and Ginny,” Potter murmured. He stood, let his pet snake slither back onto the couch, and moved towards the door. Some things were more polite to do manually than with magic.

“Harry!” Voldemort heard the feminine exclamation, and he gazed at the two grown women in a passive-aggressive glare, tongue flickering in and out of his mouth rapidly. _Intruders._ _Blasted chits, leave my domain._

“It’s good to see you two again,” greeted his wizard as he returned the hug he had gotten when the brunette had leapt on him. “You said you would visit, but I didn’t realize it would be _this_ soon—“

“You didn’t really think we would leave you all alone here during winter break, did you?” the red head asked, a hand on her hip and a pout on her face. “ _That_ would be rude.”

Potter smiled. “Ah… well… you could’ve at least given me a better warning than what my wards gave me.”

“Why Harry, do you have something to hide?” teased the Weasley. Her expression fell when she noticed how stiff her friend had become in Potter’s arms.

“Hermione…?” they both asked simultaneously.

Potter cleared his throat and gently let her go. “What’s wrong?”

“Harry…” the brunette began, and Voldemort noticed with a vague sense of satisfaction that she was staring at him in the universal expression of steadily gaining fear—eyes wide and mouth agape. He did his best to look even more terrifying, rising and swaying side to side as he hissed. “W—Why do you have a gigantic snake in your house?”

The Weasley turned her head slightly, eyes searching for what her friend had pointed out, and it didn’t take her long. She froze as well, her face turning pale as Voldemort hissed at her too.

“Huh? Oh—“Potter turned around, and the Dark Lord wasn’t quite quick enough to hide his aggressive stance. “Tom! What are you—never mind. Look, these two are my friends, okay? So calm down.”

 _“She assaulted you_ ,” he sniffed, almost haughtily if he wasn’t a snake. Obviously he knew it was supposed to be a hug, but the more he was able to play up possible reasons for his enmity, the more chances he would have to sneak in a bite here and there… _Damned women… invading my territory…_ Touching my _wizard…_

“It was a hug!” Potter defended. He looked exasperated before turning back to his two companions and waving them in. “Don’t worry,” he said to them with a forced smile, “he’s harmless. Really.”

“Harry that’s a _huge_ sna—“the brunette, now who he remembered to be _Hermione Granger,_ the little mudblood girl who had been part of that blasted _Golden Trio_ of Gryffindor, began to argue, but was cut off.

“I know. Parselmouth, remember? I found him outside in the nearby woods before it began to snow—“

“And let me guess, he charmed your one-size-too-big heart, right?” Weasley interrupted, her lips quirking in a half-smile.

When all Potter did was smile right back, this time genuinely, Granger sighed and pushed her way inside. “ _Honestly…_ You’re hopeless, Harry,” she muttered. It seemed like she was perfectly comfortable in the house, able to navigate her way right to the kitchen, where the smell of instant tea began to drift out of.

Voldemort hissed angrily as he watched his wizard lead the other female inside, seating her down on the sofa across from the one where he was resting. _Too far to bite. Guess I’ll just have to antagonize._

“ _Tom_ ,” Potter stressed. “Enough. This is Ginny, a _friend_ of mine. You don’t get to be violent to my friends.”

 _“Does that mean I get the right to bite anyone I think is your enemy?”_ Voldemort hissed.

“I would prefer that you consult me first, but if chances don’t allow, _yes_ , you may bite anyone that comes through _that_ door—“he pointed,”—if they are so identified as unwanted here.”

_“I’ll remember that for future reference.”_

What Potter said next made him smirk. “Dear Merlin I feel like I just got myself into something I won’t be able to handle,” he muttered under his breath.

“Are you alright, Harry?” Weasley asked, her head tilted as she stared at him in concern. But there was something else in that look that disturbed him…

“I’m fine,” the wizard assured.

“That’s good. I don’t know what I’d do if you’ve gotten yourself into something you can’t handle alone again!”

Voldemort had to actively restrain himself from lunging at her throat. The little chit didn’t know _anything_ about _his_ wizard. How dare she presume that she did! Perhaps his earlier observations had misled him. _Granger_ wasn’t the one he had to worry about. _Ginny Weasley_ was the _real_ threat here!

“I’m honestly staying out of trouble’s way these days,” Potter laughed as he took his original seat again. The snake took the opportunity to curl about his neck in a show of possession, though he could not hiss at her unless he wanted to take another scolding. “The only problems I’ve had recently have been grading papers—and there’s only more to come once the holidays are over.”

“You’re an _amazing_ teacher,” Weasley flirted. “I wish there was someone like you when we went to school—Merlin knows how much more we would’ve learned in DADA.”

Potter grinned obliviously. “But we _did_ get _some_ competent teachers—“

“Not enough,” Granger disagreed as she came back in with tea. Two thanks greeted her as she set everything down and took a seat next to Weasley.

“Are you _still_ sore about the whole Lockhart incident?” the red head giggled as she took a sip of her tea.

“I don’t want to talk about it.”

“Oh come on, Hermione! Me and Ron _did_ try to tell you he was a fake—“

“Ron and I,” she absentmindedly corrected. “And enough about Professor Lockhart. Just thinking about it makes me sick.”

“We were just talking about Harry’s job.”

“Oh! Right, how has that been treating you, Harry? Teddy’s a first year now, isn’t he?”

“It’s been fine,” Potter replied, “and yes, he is. In the first week he tried to distract all of his teachers by changing his hair color constantly—“

“That’s terrible!”

“It was. He got himself at least one detention, but after that first week everyone learned how to get used to it, so now he’s wondering whether or not changing his eye color would be obvious enough to cause more disruptions,” Potter’s lips quirked, “Personally, it’s just funny listening to all of the other teachers complain about it in the meetings.”

Granger groaned. “Oh dear… why don’t you talk to him about it? Warn him off? You’re his _godfather!_ ”

“I’m actually just waiting for him to find out that changing his _skin_ _color_ would be most effective—“

“ _Harry!_ ” both women shouted, but one in laughter and the other in serious scolding.

The conversation continued in this vein, mostly about catching up on each other’s lives and what everyone was doing now-a-days. Voldemort found the mundane actions of people he didn’t care about worthless, so by association he _also_ found himself on the brink of sleep, lulled by the inane chatter and the close warmth of _his_ wizard…

That was what they wanted him to do. If he went to sleep, who’s to say none of those witches would bust a move?! Do _something_ on _his_ territory?! Try to _mark_ what was _his,_ and had _always_ been _his_? It was all coming back to him now—how one of his followers had informed him of Potter’s budding relationship with the Weasley daughter, and the possibility that they could use her as bait to lure him into a trap…

Eventually of course they decided against it, considering that she was under the same protection as all the Order children and if they wasted the time and resource to kidnap _her_ , why not just go for a member of the Golden Trio or Harry Potter himself? Obviously, that was all inconsequential _now_. What was _important_ was that he now knew that relationship had not lasted. If it had, he was _sure_ the red head would be _all_ over _his_ wizard, so now the question was how to get rid of her for good—

 _Wait_.

When had he become so obsessed with Potter? Alright, wrong question— _why_ had he not noticed that he had become re-obsessed with Potter? Because that was exactly what had happened somewhere down the road, and now he was irritated that he had not realized sooner. If he had realized sooner he could’ve taken the proper steps to ensure that Potter was _his_ , and then he wouldn’t have to face this problem—

Damn it! He was finding too many loopholes in his thought process. Inwardly, Voldemort grumbled.

He was a _snake_ right now. Snakes didn’t _work_ like humans worked, so Potter could be _his_ , but by technicality, he also _wasn’t_ _his_ , which, evidently, caused another problem.

 _What_ was he going to do now that he had found something he couldn’t have? Because there was no point in trying to fake disgust or hate towards the idea that he _wanted_ Potter, whether that was for a relationship or simple possession. The wizard had taken him in, shared his sanctuary, and the Dark Lord now found _this_ —whatever _this_ was—familiar. Comforting. _Home_. And he would be damned if anyone took that away from him, which would be if anyone took away _Potter_ , and that brought in the idea of all kinds of wrong that should be eviscerated with a slow, _slow_ sort of torture, showing that _no one_ messed with what was _his_ , and—

But he was a _snake_. True, he was currently wrapped around his wizard’s neck, completely unbothered, so in that part he had won, but for Salazar’s sake he was a _bloody snake_ , and Potter…

Potter wasn’t.

Well, fine. If the Fates had known this was going to happen and purposefully made him a snake instead of letting him die a horrible, horrible death from his _own spell_ , Voldemort would just have to make do. He would just have to protect his wizard, guard him jealously; keep him away from anyone who wanted to steal—

 _Like this woman was_.

Using his unmatched speed, the snake moved from his position to wind down his wizard’s arm, curling into an S curve before attempting to bite the blasted girl’s hands. How _dare_ she try to—

Weasley shrieked, pulling back her two hands that had been in the process of handing over some type of gift. “Harry!” she cried.

Well, at least he now had Potter’s full attention.

“Tom! What the _hell_!” he hissed at him, pulling back his arm and thus the furthering the distance between his snake and his two friends. “What’s gotten into you? What did you do to my lazy, cuddly albino snake that couldn’t bother himself to slither out of bed in the morning?”

In any other situation, Voldemort would’ve been offended at the description of himself, but right now he was too busy taking a scolding to care. For once, he found himself speechless. “… _I thought she was dinner?”_

Wrong thing to say, apparently.

“What?! For Godric’s sake…!” Potter stood abruptly, sending an apologetic smile to his friends before turning his icy glare onto his snake and moving towards the hallway. “I don’t know what’s gotten into you, but you’ve got another thing coming if you think I’m just going to let you be rude to my friends. Imagine if that was Ron! He’d never want to come back here again! For now, stay in the bedroom.”

Thus, the Dark Lord found himself unceremoniously dumped onto the bed he shared with his wizard, and said man gave him one last look before he turned around and went back to the living room, locking the door on his way out as to give him no opportunities to escape and cause more trouble.

Voldemort sulked.

It was at least two hours before the door opened again and Potter stepped in. Obviously, the two girls had gone home, and now he was here to deal with his unruly pet.

“Tom?”

 _“What?”_ he hissed with a pout—well, if snakes _could_ pout. And Dark Lords didn’t pout either, so really the word was only a makeshift replacement to set the mood. Or so Voldemort told himself.

“Tell me what happened today,” Potter demanded in a no-nonsense tone.

Voldemort was half-tempted to answer with something snarky, but it probably would only land himself in more trouble, and maybe even a night having to make do with a heating charm instead of the natural heat of a body, which was _not_ a punishment he wanted to take. _“You saw_ ,” he hissed slowly. _“I tried to bite her. Your… friend.”_ The word sounded wrong on his tongue, and that probably made it sound wrong to Potter’s ears too, because his expression turned curious from angry.

“But _why?_ I _told_ you not to attack her! When someone’s my friend that means I care about them and that they’re… off limits to biting and poison and… you _know_!”

He scrambled to find something to say. _Anything_. And, because he was a genius, the idea simply came to him in his time of need. If snakes could smirk, the Dark Lord would be smirking. _“It was her scent,”_ he began slowly, innocuously, trying to convey something only an animal would understand. Potter looked confused. _“She smelled of arousal,”_ he clarified, _“and you… you did not. So she was a threat.”_

The wizard flushed, and began to cough furiously. “Wha—but—“

 _“Was I wrong?”_ he asked innocently.

“Well… That is…” Potter fumbled. He finally sighed, and collapsed onto the bed himself. Voldemort greedily took the opportunity to curl about him, soaking in the warmth that could compare to nothing else. He was rewarded for his actions when a hand came up to firmly rub at _just_ the _right_ spot…

_“Hmm…”_

“I used to date her,” the wizard admitted quietly. “She was… was… a potential mate, I guess. But things didn’t feel right between us. Even though I loved her, I decided to let her go, because at the time I knew I was just no good. It was right after… after the Battle of Hogwarts. I—“he paused,”—I couldn’t take it. Interacting with people… I had just killed a man, not by my own hands but I was the cause, and it was a rather depressing time for me.”

Voldemort tilted his triangular head, face close enough to bump his own nose against his wizard’s, and stared at the man speculatively. He hadn’t really known how his death had affected Potter—or if it had affected Potter at _all_ that is—and he never really had thought about it either. Had that been a mistake on his part?

_“You feel guilt for killing one man who had killed many?”_

Potter smiled wryly. “As much as I hate to admit it… yes. Who am I to judge the weight of a person’s life? When it should begin and when it should end? I don’t regret what happened, but sometimes I think back and feel like it wasn’t my place to kill him.”

 _“If it wasn’t_ your _place,”_ Voldemort began incredulously, _“then whose would it be? Weren’t_ you _the one destined to vanquish him?”_

“I guess… but I was so young then. I was just a kid, for Merlin’s sake! What did I know of the world personally, other than that some people were bad and some people were good? And maybe I didn’t even know that. Maybe that was just what I thought I knew—because I looked up to people like Dumbledore. What did I really know about that man… that man everyone called a monster— _Voldemort_ —what did I know about _him_?”

_“You knew enough, did you not? Enough to kill him—“_

“No,” Potter whispered, “all I knew was Tom Riddle, a brilliant, broken child who gave up hope in humanity, with a just cause. I knew _him_ intimately so, because _I_ almost became him… but what do I know of Voldemort? That he was insane? A powerful Dark Wizard? That he _was_ Tom Riddle, but certainly no longer?”

 _“Aren’t they the same?”_ hissed the snake, though it was clear he knew the answer to that.

“…I don’t think so,” the wizard sighed, and grimly smiled up at his companion. “You know, when I was younger I was disgusted at the very thought of having a part of him inside of me, but now I think it’s a shame. I was the man’s bloody horcrux! How could I _not_ know him? But I find that I don’t; I thought I did, but I really didn’t. And now I feel like he knew me more than I ever knew him—so I killed a complete stranger; albeit one who murdered and tortured without feeling anything and was probably going to destroy Wizarding Britain as we knew it, but a stranger nonetheless.”

 _What?!_ Potter had been his _horcrux._ His _horcrux_. Something seemed to click inside Voldemort’s mind, and he suddenly thought back upon how everything could’ve been different, how when in the past it seemed like he was walking a pre-destined road, now it looked like there had been so many forks it was surprising he had not gotten lost along the way… But he had been too blind to see them.

And maybe, just _maybe,_ he _had_ gotten lost.

 _“I think you knew him well,”_ Voldemort hissed finally. _“I think you knew him better than you thought you did. Perhaps you’re over-thinking things—he was insane, wasn’t he? What if that was all there was to it—that he was so insane that he couldn’t be anything else other than a maniac who wanted world domination or some other rot? What if he wasn’t as much as a riddle as he was supposed to be?”_

That last part at least got Potter to smile again, and this time in earnest. “Ha… _Riddle_ … I see what you did there,” he teased. But the moment was gone, and he sobered again. “Am I really thinking too much into it? For all this time… do you think he really _was_ just… _what he was_? No human can be _that_ shallow—“

 _“But he wasn’t a human anymore, was he?”_ hissed the snake.

Potter looked thoughtful. “You’re right. I guess he wasn’t… not any longer. He was too less of a soul, too close to _nothing_ to be _something_ , never mind being an actual _human._ It should’ve been surprising that he could even perform _magic_ , with such a small sliver of a soul that he was running on…”

 _“Go to sleep. You’re clearly tired,”_ commanded Voldemort. His wizard _did_ have that haggard look on his face, like he was _done_ with the day and certainly not ready for a new one. It was almost as if Harry Potter just wanted to sleep forever, wrapped in the comfort of blissful nothingness. The idea made the Dark Lord feel uncomfortable, to say the least.

“Good idea,” Potter yawned, and lazily waved his hand to transfigure his current clothes into something more fit for sleeping. That done, he rolled onto his side, careful not to do anything to throw over his snake, and shut his eyes.

Voldemort stayed awake. Sometime after, when he was absolutely _sure_ that the man was asleep, the snake slithered closer, resting part of his body against the crook of his wizard’s neck. It was for the warmth, and to feed another emotion that lingered deep inside of him.

 _“Voldemort,”_ he hissed slowly, comfortingly—so quiet that it was an almost indistinguishable noise inside the already silent room, _“is no more, Harry. You can sleep at ease now.”_

And, for what it was worth, it was true. He found he could no longer be “Voldemort”, not in that sense anymore anyway, because he was complete. He was _whole_ , and that, simply said, made all the difference.

_Now… to find a new moniker…_

Being nameless was certainly something to think about. He knew, technically, he was making this a lot harder than it should’ve been. If he wasn’t “Voldemort”, then he was “Tom”, right? Wrong. Potter—no, _Harry_ —was right. “Voldemort” hadn’t been “Tom” any longer, so he couldn’t be “Tom” anymore either. “Tom” was Tom Riddle, the boy in the orphanage, and then the teen who rose to power inside Slytherin House, defying all odds in the quest to be Great.

And he wasn’t that boy. Certainly not. So who was he?

Of course, he could always be “Tom” the snake, who was Harry Potter’s new pet, apparently rather odd and cuddly according to said wizard. He could be the snake who was just a snake, bitter about humans and wizards in particular since he had been abandoned. Everything would be alright, _normal_ , and he could live the rest of his days seeking for nothing other than the ownership of his owner—ironic, but true. He could live as a snake because that’s what he had always been, even though it just so happens he had ended up in the hands of a powerful wizard who was, coincidentally, the vanquisher of the most recent Dark Lord, who had before been the young boy Tom Riddle… who he was named after.

And he could simply live like that—decidedly ignorant, forcefully something that he was not. But he didn’t want to, because it went so much deeper than that. He couldn’t ignore the past— _wouldn’t_ —so who was he now? He didn’t know.

In all honesty, he supposed he could do with “Marvolo”, his middle name that wasn’t as something as mundane as “Tom”, and it certainly didn’t sound too bad on the tongue, but he remembered his mother, and the man who abused her, and how _beneath_ him that man, that “Marvolo” was, and he couldn’t help but turn away from _that_ name too. “Marvolo” wouldn’t do.

So perhaps he should just be “Riddle”. “Riddle” was still an acknowledgement to his past, to his birth as a half-blood. It was also a nod to “Tom”, Tom Marvolo Riddle, who he had once lived as and thus went through the very same trials as—all with emotion and magic, marking him as a wizard. But more than that, _more_ than his past that he simply could not bear to throw away for some reason—which could possibly be because it was, by association, of some sentimental value to Harry, and _ignoring_ something of worth to Harry just… no. It wouldn’t do—“Riddle” was how he felt like right now. “Riddle” would be a mark of this state where he was neither the insane Dark Lord Voldemort nor the orphan Tom Marvolo Riddle.

He would not be cleaned of his past deeds, both bad and—well, mostly bad. No, everything he had done—with little regret—would still be there. He was not redeemed in any sort of way. Now though, he was something a little different, because the past and present had molded him to be so, no matter how ridiculous some of the events had been—hit with his own _rebound_ Killing Curse, only to be turned into a snake afterwards instead of, oh, you know… _dying_?—and so “Riddle” summed it all up quite nicely.

Of course, his new decision would be kept to himself. Though he didn’t like the name “Tom”, it was… acceptable if _Harry_ was the one calling him such. Riddle would be the albino pet snake named Tom under ownership of Harry Potter. There it was—one sentence, one law, one rule, one _fact_ that confirmed everything.

His life was complete.

…Not really.

* * *

 

“Tom? You’re not still asleep, are you?”

He shifted his head, just a minor move in reply to the question. _“No,”_ the snake hissed for additional confirmation.

“Ah. Good…”

“We need to talk,” the wizard sighed, and then he suddenly shook his head. “Geez, it feels like I’m talking to a _person_ instead of a _snake_ ,” he muttered under his breath.

_“What’s there to… ssss… talk about?”_

 “The end of the hols is approaching soon…” Harry grimaced. “Look, I don’t know if I’m comfortable bringing you with me to Hogwarts after what happened yesterday.”

 _That_ made Riddle—honestly, it was difficult to get used to that, but generally speaking referring to oneself in their head was a hard task to begin with, and it wasn’t like he was _actually_ thinking in third-person sentences, it was just the _concept_ of not being Voldemort anymore that threw him off—lift his head. _“You’re going to leave me here?”_ he asked incredulously.

“Well—“Harry began, almost to defend the accusation, but he stopped before he could start and simply settled for a look of defeat. “Look, you’re smart. Brilliant. And I don’t mean just for a snake, either. You have a sense of humor, you’re witty, you’re sly, and it’s really, _really_ hard to remember you’re a reptilian creature if I’m just talking to you… but what happened with Ginny just… it wouldn’t be good if that happened again.”

 _“I’m not going to go around biting random children,”_ Riddle sniffed, offended. Not that snakes could sniff because of taking offense, but he would if he could.

“But you’d go biting people that you would think are… erm… danger,” the wizard cautiously pointed out.

_“Who wouldn’t?”_

Harry sighed exasperatedly. “What I’m _trying_ to say is… erm… geez how to put this—“

The snake decided to save him from the embarrassment. _“I might encounter similar situations if I were to come with you to school,”_ he supplied.

“Yes. That.”

_“And you don’t want me to bite people… like I almost did to the red head.”_

“Exactly.”

 _“…Is there some way I could simply convince you to take my word for it that I_ won’t _bite the young, vulnerable, completely defenseless children?”_

Harry groaned. “You’re not helping your case!”

 _“I can’t help it,”_ Riddle argued mockingly. _“I’m a_ snake _.”_

“Oh Lord,” the wizard sighed. “Oh Merlin, oh Godric, oh Great Founders above! You’re right—“he began to helplessly chuckle in a way that made his snake worry for his health,”—you _are_ just a snake. Why the _hell_ am I even having this conversation with you—“

 _“You’re trying to tell me that I can’t come with you to Hogwarts,”_ Riddle pointed out, and then hissed in displeasure, _“Because you think I might bite one of the youths you’re teaching. Perfectly reasonable conversation to have with a snake… unless you mean the fact that you_ shouldn’t _have this chat with me because you know I’m_ perfectly _capable of controlling myself and that you should just stop because you’re obviously bringing me with you, then—“_

He was cut off by Harry’s laughter. “No,” the wizard shook his head in an attempt to stop his amusement from showing, “no, just—oh geez. It just sounds like I’m breaking up with you or something.”

Riddle stiffened, but it was so quick and unnoticeable—he was a _snake_ , for the millionth time—that his wizard hadn’t seen. _“Breaking up? What’s that?”_ he asked innocently.

Instantly, Harry’s laughter stopped. “Nothing,” he said a bit too quickly, and then coughed to try and regain some of his wits. “Look, I understand that you want to come with me—wait a second, what do you mean you’re _capable of controlling yourself_?! What was that with Ginny then?!”

Damn. A trap. Riddle inwardly cursed. _“She smelled terrible. I don’t see how you could think she was a potential mate.”_

“What—?! That has nothing to do with—you’re _clearly_ —you know what, never mind. Just… never mind…”

_“Does that mean you’re not leaving me here?”_

“No, because clearly you’re just doing what pleases you,” Harry sighed, “Snakes. _Slytherins_. Merlin, it’s all making loads more sense now, since Slytherin could talk to snakes—“

 _“So you’re going to leave me here,”_ hissed the snake flatly. The mood instantly shifted. He even began to slither away from the warm, warm body and towards the door, just to add dramatic effect.

“Well—wait, where are you going?” he heard the sound of his wizard sitting up.

 _“Oh, well, since all you damned wizards are the same, I’ll just be leaving now before you can_ throw me out. _Good bye, Harry Potter, and thanks for feeding me for my duration here.”_

“Wha—wait! Damn it Tom! Wait!”

The sound of a crash behind him made Riddle turn his head, only to meet the very amusing sight of Harry tangled in the sheets as he had so obviously fallen out of bed in his haste. It was a laughable sight, he thought fondly, but in his ploy to stay with his wizard he couldn’t let it distract him from his goal.

But even in the odd position he was in, his wizard _still_ was able to utter out something so serious and so believable that if Riddle really _was_ an abandoned snake on the verge of leaving, it would’ve made him change his mind in a heartbeat.

“Don’t—don’t _go_ ,” Harry begged.

_“…So you’ll take me with you?”_

“We’ll have to go over a few rules that _absolutely will not be broken_ , but yes…” the wizard sighed, “I’ll take you with me.”

_“…Alright.”_

With that done and taken care of, Riddle slithered back over to where his wizard had fallen and promptly curled around him again, almost mirroring the tangle of blankets that had caused the scenario in the first place.

Harry gave his pet snake a piercing look, and then huffed and submitted to the fact that he had just gotten played by an animal. “…You’re just making fun of me now, aren’t you?”


	3. Chapter 3

_“…So, allow me the chance to get this straight—you’re the only teacher out of school for winter break_ why _?”_

Harry shrugged, jostling his snake a bit but not by too much. They were currently in Hogwarts’ hallways, Riddle comfortably wrapped about Harry’s torso and curled up to wind around his neck underneath his robes, making their way to the Great Hall.

“It really depends on which _why_ you mean. _Why_ as in _why_ am I the _only_ teacher who left, or _why_ as in _why_ did I leave in the first place when no one else did.”

_“Both, I suppose.”_

“Then to answer the first _why_ , well… teachers prefer to stay here. It gives them the peace and quiet to grade work while still being comfortable and warm during the holidays. Not to mention, Hogwarts is their second home—they certainly wouldn’t mind staying. To answer the second, well… even though Hogwarts is a home to me, too, I prefer that small cottage in the middle of nowhere for the winter. I’d rather be all by my lonesome self, if you know what I mean.”

 _“You seemed rather desperate to have_ me _stay with you.”_

“You’re a snake,” Harry said in a matter-of-fact way, as if it were the one answer to everything. Maybe it was. “And before you say it, I don’t mean in the you’re-not-as-intelligent-as-a-human way—Merlin knows how many times I forget who I’m talking to. It’s just… animals are _so_ much easier to get along with than people.”

 _“I know,”_ Riddle hissed quietly in agreement, momentarily forgetting his fake back story. _“I can relate.”_

Fortunately for the Dark Lord-turned-snake, Harry decided not to comment, if he had a comment in the first place. Who knew how he took those words—whether it was in relation to what had happened to “Tom’s previous owner” or a burning curiosity as to how a _snake_ could relate to a _human’s point of view_ that animals were easier to get along with.

But, well, in the end, it probably didn’t matter, seeing as the wizard didn’t say anything anyway.

_“…So why are we at Hogwarts a few days early if you usually come back at the very last second possible?”_

“Oh, it wasn’t obvious? I have to tell McGonagall that you’re, erm, my new pet snake. And the most harmless creature on earth… you know, how you wouldn’t hurt a fly? And then conveniently after I’ve convinced her of that tiny little detail, I have to ask for permission to keep you here with me during the school year.”

 _“…Are you trying to ask me something, Harry?”_  Riddle didn’t hold back on his heavy sarcasm.

The wizard stopped in his smooth gait, preferring to turn his full attention towards the serpent that was currently resting upon his shoulders. “Please, _please_ don’t do anything violent? Because if McGonagall says no, that means no. As in, I-can’t-keep-you-here-no. Not even an I-can-try-to-smuggle-you-in-here-anyway-no! She’s the Headmaster—sorry, Headmistress—and _nothing_ can slip past her, so could you at least _try_ to be on your best behavior? _Without_ thinking she’s dinner?”

 _“You want me to be a shy, docile_ pet snake _?”_ Riddle drawled.

“Shy snakes exist.”

“Me _,”_ he clarified.

“Oh. Well, _pretend_ to be a shy snake then. I don’t even care if you play dead for half of the meeting—just don’t do anything that makes someone think _oh hey, this snake is probably very aggressive and also has a lethal poison it’s not afraid to use!_ Because that would be bad.”

_“…So I can take a nap?”_

“If you don’t try to bite her or jump if you’re rudely awoken, then yes. If your answer is no, seriously—you’re smart enough to act harmless! I don’t even know why you’re making such a big deal. It’s not like the meeting’s going to take a whole day. It’ll just be a few minutes—an hour tops. Look, I’ll even conjure you a nice fat rabbit to hunt afterwards, okay? You can watch it slowly die to your poison or something as entertainment.”

 _“_ My _, I didn’t know you had such a sadistic imagination,”_ Riddle commented dryly. _“Want to try being a snake for a day?”_

“Sorry. Been there, done that… albeit it was _Malfoy_ when he was still a whiny little git hiding behind his father, but it’s not something I want to repeat anyways.”

 _“From the stories you’ve told me,_ that _is in no way a proper comparison to being a snake. And I see what you did there—whether or not you want to be an_ actual _snake_ , _a Slytherin, or a_ real _Slytherin_ _is completely up to you, as long as it’s one of the three.”_

“Was that comment about being a proper comparison in reference to all three of those options?” Harry asked.

_“I’ll say yes, but know it’s only because I know you’re easily amused by making fun of the mini-Malfoy.”_

“It’s a habit.”

 _“…Harry Potter, are you stalling?”_ the snake hissed.

“Uh… maybe. Look, all I’m asking is for you to act—“

_“I know, I know. No means no, if I slip I’m not staying with you. I get it. A little faith, alright?”_

“...Tom—“

 _“It’s funny seeing you get frustrated,”_ Riddle nonchalantly replied.

Harry cursed under his breath, but rather than turning around the way he came, he continued on towards the Great Hall in hopes of finishing the matter. “ _Why_ do I have a pet snake again? It could’ve been a dog. It could’ve been a cat. Hell, I probably could’ve even pulled off getting a pet _lion_. But a _snake_? Must be Voldemort’s final act of revenge—irreparable damage to Harry Potter’s brain cells,” he mumbled.

Riddle at least had the courtesy to not say a word.

* * *

Living with Harry at Hogwarts was… different, to say the least. It wasn’t just the two of them anymore. And even though the students were annoying and he was always at least _half_ tempted to bite someone or other, he still found himself enjoying how his life was now.

There was a simplistic type of pleasure in the most mundane things. When he was still at school, he was obsessed with gaining power and influence, and before that, he was stuck in Slytherin as a supposed muggleborn. Riddle found he never had the chance to experience any other school life, where the most stressful things were exams and the thought of assassinations was ludicrous. In all honesty he felt a little jealous, to see it now in this new light.

He hadn’t had the chance to live like this.

Then again, neither had Harry… to a point. Maybe he _had_ been able to have normal friendships and petty troubles that hadn’t seemed so petty at the time, but the thought and threat of Voldemort must’ve still panged in the back of his mind, his identity as the Boy-Who-Lived never helping matters. Now that Riddle thought about it, Harry never exactly had a seventh year either.

He wondered how Harry felt, seeing his students so carefree and innocent. So _unlike_ what he had known back then, when Wizarding Britain was on the brink of a civil war.

Riddle hissed in inquiry when the Defense professor set down his quill with a long sigh. _“Done?”_

Harry smiled, tightlipped and tired. “Not quite. I think I’ll need another cup of tea to get through _this_ stack…”

 _“Rest_ ,” Riddle urged.

 “I _am_ I _am_!” Harry laughed. “Well, at least there’s not _too much_ red on these papers. I’m relieved—that means I’m doing my job right.”

_“Drilling information into young and impressionable minds?”_

“More like making sure that information _stays_ there.”

 _“That’s the_ student’s _job,”_ the snake scoffed.

 “Maybe, but _I’m_ supposed to make it easier for them. Make learning fun, y’know?” Harry grinned as he took the tea that had popped onto his desk. House elves were probably the most efficient creatures on earth.

 _“Fulfilling the desire for knowledge_ is _‘fun’, as you so say.”_

The professor snorted. “Right. And the next thing you’re going to say is that the study of wand lore stimulates the mind in ways that hormonal teenagers don’t dare fathom.”

_“…”_

“What? Really?” Harry exclaimed.

 _“Hardly,”_ he sighed. _“But wand lore is actually interesting, if you know what parts to read. How wand cores effect the magic of the wizard, how the lengths of the wand can actually prove detrimental to the power of said core—there’s a possibility of magical backlash, in answer to that look of yours—reactions between individual wands due to their material make ups—“_

“Wait,” the professor interrupted. “How do _you_ know all this? You’re a _snake_!”

“ _Hss…”_ Riddle paused, _“the human who last had me wanted to be a wand maker.”_

Harry stared at him in disbelief. “Who _wants_ to be a _wand maker_?”

 _“It’s a craft that requires magical sensitivity and a great deal of finesse_ ,” defended Riddle. _“That’s why you don’t see more of them around. Not_ everyone _can be a wand maker, so naturally there are many stereotypes surrounding it that are in no such way true. But in the end, wand makers are probably the most influential people in the British Wizarding World. Obviously my previous owner failed in his short-lived dream, but there’s still merit in the craft.”_

“I… admit to being speechless,” Harry sighed, “You’re actually making it sound interesting, damn it! You’re not supposed to do that!”

 _“If your curiosity is piqued, feel free to read up on it,”_ the snake hissed. _“I’d say you have potential to be a wand maker yourself, if you ever feel like quitting your Defense job.”_

“Me? A wand maker? You’re joking.”

 _“I’m not. You have the power, the sensitivity, a close bond with your_ own _wand, and your control over your own magic—I’ve_ seen _you do wandless—is practically flawless. You teach because you love Hogwarts, but you’re still young. Consider your other options.”_

Riddle was pleased to see the contemplative look on Harry’s face, and even _more_ pleased because the papers that had been causing his wizard exhaustion were forgotten.

* * *

Despite how content Riddle felt staying at Hogwarts, he knew he couldn’t laze around for long. He had a purpose.

Which was why he was heading down to the Chamber of Secrets through Hogwarts’ pipe system.

In the Chamber, he could probably find a book or two (maybe not even, it _could_ be just a paragraph) on his… situation, and the solution to it. Salazar Slytherin was a genius, after all, and Riddle had read his fair share of books by the brilliant wizard to know if _anyone_ knew about his problem, even if it was centuries in the past, it would be him.

Well, Salazar or Rowena, certainly. But it wasn’t like he could gain access to Ravenclaw’s hidden library, could he? So might as well go to the former’s.

Besides, the Chamber of Secrets was much easier to gain access to than, say, the Room of Requirement right now, and Hogwarts’ Library certainly didn’t have the information he needed (he was sure he read most if not _all_ those books by his sixth year), so that was his justification for traveling down these dirty old pipe lines that the basilisk once had.

Hadn’t Harry mentioned he had killed her? _Fuck_. Her corpse was probably still there, perfectly preserved. Now he _really,_ _really_ wanted to get some potions materials from her, but snakes couldn’t _make_ potions and he doubted he could get away with forcing Harry to make some for the sake of using expensive materials.

_All of that skin, those teeth, the venom… all going to waste…_

Riddle sighed. If he managed to find a way to become human again, harvesting it all would be one of his first priorities.

He entered the still-open entrance the basilisk had came through, and navigated his way through the maze to locate the library, completely bypassing the giant snake’s room as well as Salazar’s own bedroom. Perhaps he should ask the man himself whether or not there was a cure for him, but that would be last. The less people to know about him, the better, even _if_ it was his ancestor—the literal definition of a Slytherin.

Slytherin’s library was much smaller than Hogwarts’, but it was still a worthy size. Book shelves reaching the ceiling lined the walls, all full with volumes varying in lengths and sizes and age. Riddle remembered adding some of his own books to the collection, all dark tomes that would’ve gotten him in the deepest trouble one could imagine had he been caught with them in his possession.

But that was beside the point.

The snake hissed in discomfort. He wished he had a cleaning spell for all of the dust. Well, it was a lesser matter. He knew there was water in the front where he could bathe off some of the grime before he went back. Harry would notice his absence in an hour or two, so it was best to get to work.

It was a good thing all of the searching spells the Founder had installed were in parseltongue.

* * *

He couldn’t find it. No matter what shelf he browsed, how many books he scoured, there was nothing alike his situation, and thus, no cure. Nothing to turn him back to a wizard—to a _human_ form, at this point, was all Riddle wanted. Because maybe if he was a something like a person it would still be okay, he would still have a chance, at least, to protect what was his, and hell, having _legs_ would be closer to a wizard than a _snake_ was, so maybe—

But it was rather pointless if there was nothing.

He found it easier and easier to sneak away as the year went on, Harry being stuck with grading papers and teaching classes and tutoring. And each time, each time he snuck away, his mind turned to the portrait hanging in a certain room of the Chamber, where perhaps his answers lied but that ‘perhaps’ was, little by little, chipping away to impossibility the closer he got to the end of the library.

Salazar was a great wizard. Great and powerful, but not omniscient.

A part of him told himself to try anyway, that it wouldn’t hurt to exhaust all of his options, but then Riddle would always stop and wonder that if he _did_ exhaust all of his options, what would become of himself? What would he _do_? It was hard trying to predict oneself in matters of desperation, and he didn’t want to think about it past a certain point.

He wondered if he would go insane, forever the receiver of Harry’s kind smiles and affectionate touches that he would never be able to return.

Of course, there was, by technicality, a shortcut to see if he were to ever become a wizard again. If he could get into the Room of Requirement, then perhaps that could tell him. Or maybe if he took a drop of Felix Felicis—though he never believed in the exploitation of such a potion, considering the person in question it suddenly became an option.

But again, it was the blaring uncertainty of the future _passed_ that, _passed_ his next immediate decision that caused that thrill of fear to run down the expanse of his scaly body. While his situation certainly wasn’t the best, it was better than a lot of things—the memory of the cold and solitary forest still haunted him on his worst days—and if maybe, just _maybe_ , the Fates prefer he stay where he was now… well, wouldn’t that be better than nothing?

It was hard to have so many conflicting views inside of oneself. There was still the original Tom, the Tom that wouldn’t settle for less than he desired, the one who couldn’t stand the place he was in now because it meant _giving up_ what he felt he should rightfully have, and then there was this new humble side that he was still unused to. The side that went through a near-death experience, the side that went through life as a snake, utterly alone and lacking the bliss of a completely animalistic mind... and met Harry, and received his kindness, and feared— _oh dared not_ to take more, lest it all be yanked out from underneath him.

And Riddle wondered, secretly, not for the first time, if it would really be so bad to let Harry know. Perhaps the man would forgive him, would still accept him, and then they could search together for a cure, because Merlin knew the Fates loved Harry at all the right times, and maybe this would _be_ one of those times.

But the thought was pushed away as quickly as it came. He could not tell. That was foolish, and an ignorant man’s hope. No, Harry would not accept him as he truly was _now_. He would have to be in a state to woo him first.

Not to redeem himself, but to show a different side, a different choice, from before.

But until he could get there, he would be stuck. Stuck in this form, stuck at this fork in the road, for he could not choose—could not _fight_ himself for it, as he didn’t know what side was _him_ anyway.

* * *

Apparently, the Fates felt he had taken too long and had decided for him. Riddle wondered how he ended up in the Come-And-Go Room—oh, he _remembered_ how he got here, but just because he saw the memories didn’t mean he completely understood the hows and whys and just _what_. Because really, the last two hours were just a jumble of absurdities that he didn’t even want to go through _explaining_ , never mind _recounting_.

Other than that, _well_ …

“Oh my! Now why did the wrackspurts lead me to _Hogwarts_ , of all places?”

Riddle immediately reeled back into a defensive position, ready to strike but wary. From an innocuous cabinet in the back of the room came a feminine voice, and out stepped a young blonde that looked vaguely familiar, but then again he had seen a lot of people in his life so it wasn’t out of the question to see a distant relative and confuse the two.

She had a dreamy smile on her face, as if she was often dozing off and never paying much attention to anything at all. Her slow pace in glancing around the room combined with the small skip in her step threw him completely off—and were those _radishes_ she was wearing on her ears?

“Oh, I’m sorry Mr. Voldemort. I seemed to have missed you there!” the blonde said, finally noticing him as she skipped over without fear ever touching her scent. “But I suppose it’s Mr. Riddle now, isn’t it?”

 _“Who the hell are you?”_ he hissed before realizing she couldn’t understand him. _Bollocks!_

“Ah, we seem to have a little language barrier,” she giggled. “I don’t speak snake, but Harry does. Maybe I should get him to come translate—oh, you don’t seem to like that idea. Alright, hmm… how about you write? No? Well I suppose that would take too long, wouldn’t it? Hmm…”

“I can help you there miss,” a deeper voice said from behind an old, velvet curtain.

The blonde tilted her head and went over to pull them aside, revealing four portraits containing people Riddle recognized instantly.

“Hello there Mr. Slytherin!” she greeted immediately, “and that would be brilliant, thank you.”

“He asked who you were.”

“Oh! Why, I completely forgot to introduce myself!” The snake was in too much of a shock at seeing the four Founders—albeit only Salazar seemed awake—to even bother questioning how she knew what Slytherin looked like to begin with. “I’m Luna Lovegood. Some people call me Looney, but for some reason they seemed to have stopped. I think Harry’s the one who’s been stopping them, actually.”

Riddle wondered, for perhaps the first time, why all these strange things were happening to _him_. Besides the fact that, well, _you know_ , he had been the most powerful dark lord of the century and all…

 _“Salazar,”_ he greeted, turning his head to dip into a bow before his ancestor. _“It’s been awhile.”_

“So it has, descendant of mine. And I see you’ve gotten yourself into quite a bit of trouble since we’ve last spoken.”

 _“They have not been my best years,”_ replied Riddle.

“But certainly, as of recent, not your worst?” The question was innocent, but nothing about the Founder was _ever_ so simple. Riddle read the implication loud and clear.

Suddenly, Luna brightened and clapped her hands together in excitement. “Oh! Oh! I see now! You’re in love with Harry, aren’t you? No wonder you’ve got such a bright shine to you, Mr. Riddle! Love tends to do that to people, you know. Oh! This is such wonderful news! I _must_ go see Harry right this minute, and check and see if he has such a beautiful shine to him as you do!”

Alarmed, Riddle positioned himself between the blonde and the only door in the room, rearing back with a threatening hiss. _“Don’t you dare!”_

“That would not be the wisest idea, miss,” interrupted Slytherin. “I doubt Harry knows of the… _affections_ that our acquaintance holds for him.”

Luna, completely unaffected by the dangerous snake in front of her, tilted her hand and hummed thoughtfully. “You don’t say? Well, I guess that’s understandable. Harry is undeniably adorable, but he can be rather oblivious when it comes to things like this, and it’d be terrible if I ruin the surprise. He’ll be _overjoyed_ that Mr. Riddle is alive, but it’ll turn him into a stuttering _mess_ if we tell him Mr. Riddle’s in love with him! Not that that isn’t adorable too…”

Riddle wondered whether he should be annoyed or bewildered with the woman. It certainly didn’t help that he found himself _agreeing_ with her on some aspects… But wait, _certainly_ Harry wouldn’t be happy to know _Voldemort_ was _alive_ , right?

 _“Perish the thought. He’d probably kill me three times over,”_ he spat bitterly. It didn’t matter what Harry thought of his past participation in vanquishing the dark lord. He’d still see Riddle as a threat should his existence be revealed, and then would set about vanquishing him all over again. Even _if_ he had a body, it wasn’t like he could just walk up with a bouquet of flowers (not that he’d do such a cliché thing in the first place anyway), present them to his ex-nemesis, and announce his intentions to court him!

Slytherin looked amused. “He says Harry would kill him three times over, if he found out.”

Luna covered her mouth with a hand as she gasped in shock. “What! Oh, he would _never!_ Perhaps Mr. Riddle is joking?” She turned to look at the snake expectantly.

 _“I do not_ jest _,”_ Riddle hissed.

“He isn’t,” translated the portrait.

Luna frowned. “Well, Mr. Riddle, both Mr. Slytherin and I can agree that Harry certainly wouldn’t! In fact, I’m surprised you haven’t told him yet! He’d _adore_ you, I assure, even more than he does now! He can’t stop talking about you in his letters, you know—Tom the snake, that is. And Mr. Slytherin can attest, with a great deal of credibility, that it doesn’t matter if you’re Mr. Voldemort or Mr. Riddle. He’d love to have you either way, I’m sure.”

 _“Somehow I doubt that, woman,”_ Riddle deadpanned. _“Considering he killed me, before.”_

After listening to Slytherin’s helpful translation, Luna pouted. “He didn’t _kill you_ , otherwise you wouldn’t be here! And, well, never mind _that_. We were young then, you know? Harry was probably just insecure. He didn’t know if he loved you yet.”

He turned to the Founder, who was staring at them in great amusement. _“This woman is making less and less sense as she continues to speak. Tell me, if you would, is she insane?”_

“After what happened with Cho, you have to understand,” Luna babbled on, “he was so unsure of _everything_ after that, even confounded himself into thinking he _loved_ Ginny! And oh, Ginny’s a dear friend, even though she refused to go hunting for the Crumple-Horned Snorkack with me, and certainly if they were _truly_ in love I’d have given them my blessings in a heartbeat, but they just never fit that way. Harry just won’t fit in a relationship that has _him_ doing all of the taking-care-of.”

“Not completely,” Slytherin replied with a smirk.

“—And that’s why you shouldn’t doubt yourself, Mr. Riddle! You might not be the easiest to love, but Harry does so have a knack for taking to everyone with the slightest bit of good in them, and you’ve already got his affection in the form of a snake, so—Hm? What was that, Mr. Slytherin?”

“Nothing, miss,” the Founder waved off. “Rather, isn’t it about time we help Mr. Riddle with his problem, and lighten the weight on young Harry’s shoulders?”

“Oh! Yes!” Luna clapped, nodding her head enthusiastically. “I believe that’s why the wrackspurts lead me here in the first place!”

* * *

The whole meeting in the Come-and-Go Room left Riddle exhausted, but lighter and with some ounce of hope in him. And, perhaps, the whole affair could be summed out quite simply: Harry had strange friends.

Luna Lovegood, for one, who may or may not be a seer, and who may or may not be “completely” insane, was someone he would never understand. Hopefully, he’d be seeing more of her, because apparently she and Harry were the best of friends and if, when he had a body again, Harry felt comfortable enough with having a dark lord meet with one of his dearest companions, then he was probably on the right track, as they say.

And then there was Salazar Slytherin—actually, no, _all_ of the Hogwarts Founders were friends with Harry. Apparently. Riddle wondered to what extent Harry would manage to get to before he stopped doing amazing things.

The man probably had no limit anyway. If he had amazed Riddle when he had been Voldemort, and still managed to do so now, then it was safe to assume the limit would never be reached.

The snake slithered his way back to his rooms, knowing exactly where Harry would be at this time. He knew Harry’s schedule by heart; for all of the man’s unpredictability in abnormal situations, his mundane life was… startlingly normal, Riddle supposed. He hadn’t ever thought about it until coming to Hogwarts again, seeing Harry work like a normal citizen earning his living. Yes, even _this_ … this was humbling.

“Tom!” Harry greeted, eyes lighting up as he saw his snake enter through the portrait guarded door. “Welcome back.”

 _“Ssss... I’m home,”_ Riddle remarked dryly back. And, he realized with a start, he _meant_ it. Wherever Harry was, was home.

“Enjoying Hogwarts, I take it?” the man asked as he set aside his papers. It appeared he was all done for the night.

 _“The castle is large_ ,” he said, purposely vague. _“I enjoy it most at night, when there are no students about.”_

Harry laughed. “I suppose you would, but I _do_ miss my cuddly pet snake when I go to bed.” The comment was light, but Riddle sensed the hidden _where_ are _you going these days?_ behind it. Well, now that he had a plan to get a body back, Riddle resolved to spend as much time as he could with the man.

_“Only you would ever think to cuddle up with a snake.”_

“You started it,” Harry argued playfully back. Standing up, he moved around to extend an arm down to Riddle, waiting patiently for the snake to fully wind its body around his arm before moving.

 _“Mm… warm…”_ hissed Riddle.

“I think I’ve spoiled you.”

_“There’s no such thing.”_

“Are you surprised that I don’t believe you?”

Riddle hissed something unintelligible. Harry shook his head fondly and nuzzled the scaly head that came around to bump against his cheek.

“Oh, very well you oddly affectionate snake,” he mock-sighed, “to bed with you. I’ll not stand to keep my eyes open a moment longer—I swear, I’m apologizing to all my teachers in the past who had to read my horrible handwriting!”

_“It’s better now though.”_

“Only by a bit,” Harry huffed.

Upon reaching his bed, he carefully unwound the snake and placed him on the soft comforter before undressing himself. It could easily be done with magic, and Harry admitted to doing so when he was dead tired, but today wasn’t one of those days. Perhaps it was growing up with muggles that left him accustomed to it, perhaps he just wanted to keep his hands busy—either way, going through his nightly ritual without magic helped relax his tense body from its instinctual, always-be-ready mindset.

Once he crawled underneath the blankets—topless, as he had become so accustomed to these days; honestly, Tom was so _spoiled_!—Harry turned around to lie on his stomach, tucking one arm under his pillow and placing the other on top to hold it tight. He felt scales slither across his bare skin, crisscrossing over his spine, the weight now familiar and comforting. _This…_ this was his life now. He couldn’t think of it any other way.

Riddle’s white triangular head rested upon his shoulder, peeking over to stare at his face with his red eyes. His tongue flickered out, just barely tickling Harry’s cheek. _“Are you…"_ he paused, _"satisfied?”_

“Huh? …Well, yeah, I guess I am. What makes you say that though?”

The snake tilted its head, staring unblinkingly at the human. His tongue flickered out again, a little closer this time, brushing against skin for hardly a fraction of a second. _“You’re smiling.”_

Harry blinked. “I guess I am. So what, I can’t smile these days without you saying something about it?”

Again, there was a pause.

 _“Never mind,”_ Riddle hissed slowly. _“Go to sleep. You have to wake up and teach a bunch of brats tomorrow, remember?”_

“Yes yes, whatever you say,” Harry grumbled. “You sleep too.”

_“I will. Goodnight.”_

“Night, Tom.”

And how much Riddle wanted to kiss that smile, how much he wanted to keep it there directed only at _him_ , how much that smile described every little thing he hadn’t known he even _wanted_ —contentment over satisfaction, pleasure over victory, love over hate—it all went unsaid, because he didn’t know how to put it into words, never mind a full sentence.

He couldn’t, anyway. It wasn’t his place yet. And someday, Riddle knew he would _make it_ his place.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Almost done!


	4. Chapter 4

_Dear Harry,_

_There has been much conflict in my heart, whether I should leave without a word or at least give you this. In the end, I could not bear to part from you completely—at least this, a token of my memory, should connect you and I despite our distance. I know not where I’ll go, nor when I’ll be back. There are still things in this world I need to discover, strangely enough._

_Before when I traveled, I thought I had seen all there was to see. And only now, after meeting you, do I realize that I was dreadfully wrong back then. The world is vast, magic ingrained into every speck of dust in the land—muggle, mudblood, pureblood, magic does not discriminate who it touches—and from this, I take away the ultimate lesson. That you, who I thought to be a child compared to my years, might very well be centuries older in your understanding. Despite all I know, all that I have learned, no experience will ever compare with the time I have spent with you._

_And for that, sincerely,_ thank you _._

_When I have found the person who I want to be, the person who I truly am—for at the moment, I am as good as a newborn babe—then I will return to you, and perhaps we could sit down by the fireside and speak of things that should’ve been spoken of long ago. I could tell you, with my own voice, who I was, who I am, who I am determined to be, and perhaps then—_

_Perhaps then, I will understand the bewitching power of your smile, and it would be possible for you to grow just as enamored with me as I have been with you._

_I do believe some otherworldly force has brought us together, time and time again. There are too many signs in that direction, too much evidence to claim confidently that what we have been, if not what we are now, is coincidence. Part of me is bitter, to be directed so without my knowledge for decades upon decades, but that, I believe, is simply a piece of who I am. I will not delude myself any longer. I know not the full extent of my own nature, have been too isolated from my own soul to know in confidence, and so this is why I bid you goodbye until we meet again._

_I do hope I was not wrong to take this journey. There is a degree of risk in it, I admit—part of it, of course, that someone else may happen upon you in my absence and steal you away from me, but it is a risk that, though I am not particularly pleased in the slightest, I will take, if only to be able to welcome and appreciate your hospitality to the fullest._

_There have been times—many, in fact—when you have gazed in my direction, and in that split second before you blinked, I wondered if you knew more than you appeared to. I would certainly not put it past you to have figured out my true identity, for you know me better than you think you do. And I wondered—wonder_ still _—if your subtle display of confidence should be encouraging or intimidating._

_I still have much to learn of the world, mostly myself, and that is why I leave you now, to find a time where I may return and tell you without hesitation who I am._

_Harry, I would never abandon you. In fact, it should be_ I _who fear your abandonment. For me, please do not shed any more tears._

 _You are—_ have been, will be— _my sanctuary. Await my return, but do not expect it to come quickly. A man, if that is truly all I am now, or truly what I’ve always been, will always find his way back to his home. And I find, as I regret that I had not previously discovered sooner, that_ you _are my home—your warmth, your smile, the light and the darkness in your eyes… You are my one comfort. My sanctuary. The only place I know, regardless of whether or not I decide who or what I am, that will welcome me with open arms._

_Undoubtedly I am the most fortuitous creature in Britain to have you. And I do have you, is what those eyes of yours sing to me._

_Let it not be a rose, with its thorns and untouchable beauty—for thorns will prick you as you try to treasure it, and I know you, Harry; you would not let it go even should it stab your hands and feed from your blood—instead, let it be a stone, a pillar, but one piece of our sanctuary, a firm presence that withstands wind and rain, taking in warmth and freely releasing it back. Let it be a stone that represents it, this of mine, from the very soul of the earth, blessed by the caress of magic and inconspicuous to all but those who know what to look for... all but you…_

_Is it not the best, most tragic piece of irony, that I who would have sent you the worst of letters a lifetime ago, I who would have snarled curses at the very thought of you, whose blood would boil in rage and loathing at the mere mention, whose immediate goal was for your complete and immediate eradication—is it not the most terrible thing, that now here I sit, writing to you a solemn love letter? We will laugh for ages of this, you and I. Later, after the most difficult things have passed, and we may speak as old companions …_

_I am eager to get there. And so my journey must not be postponed further. Wait for me just a tad longer Harry. After, no more will I ever keep you waiting._

_With all of my sincerest wishes._

* * *

The Leaky Cauldron was as crowded as ever, it being noon time after all. While he certainly didn’t wish any ill will on Tom, the innkeeper, or any of the inhabitants of the establishment, Harry never appreciated crowds. It was with this wry, almost bitter acceptance that he entered, face hidden by a hood, all with the intention of heading straight to the floo.

It was almost ironic how dreadful this trip was. Harry Potter avoided crowds at all cost, yet here he was willingly braving one. Harry Potter avoided _floo_ even more, and yet here he was, braving the crowds _to get to_ the floo network.

Never mind how he’d _gotten_ into this situation in the first place. He didn’t want to recall—too many strange things had happened today, weighing him down with fatigue, and all he wanted to do was _get this stupid trip over with—_

Then he collided with another body, as people were wont to do when they struggled in crowds and were focusing more on their thoughts than the surroundings, and Harry’s patience snapped.

He was tired, he was hungry, he’d been running around _Merlin knew how long_ just to finish up these errands, and _now_ he was falling, onto the cold unforgiving ground, with tons of people likely to step on his cloak and make him trip again, and he probably wouldn’t even get an _apology_ —

But the person who he’d bumped into caught him instead.

 _Huh_. Harry blinked. Even though he was exhausted, it wasn’t in him to be rude to strangers, so he looked up and stuttered out a, “Sorry! Uh, excuse me—” He didn’t finished his sentence.

“Excuse… _excuse_ … me…” the words came out only by force of habit, but Harry wasn’t even focusing on his mouth anymore. He was too busy looking up into _unnatural_ red eyes, pale skin, thin lips—

The arms that had caught him tightened momentarily, but just as quick as they did, they let him go. Harry, still dumbfounded, couldn’t make a sound. “Be more careful,” the stranger said in a surprisingly soft voice, before turning and slithering effortlessly through the crowd. Harry spun around and watched him go, black cloak managing to billow _impossibly_ , because there were people and cloaks didn’t billow when there were too many bodies in the way and—

_Oh Merlin…_

“Wait!” Harry cried, finding his voice at the last second. His jaw quivered as the man didn’t stop, and Harry found himself forgetting all the appointments and troubles of the day, all of the things he had done and all the things he _still_ had to do, because when it came to this person, none of it ever mattered. None of it.

So he pushed through the crowds the way he originally came, stumbled out onto the clearer streets, and raced after the stranger who’d caught him. Though the man was only _walking_ , his pace seemed to be impossibly fast. Harry didn’t think he could catch up, but he still pushed his legs faster, mumbled out apologies to the affronted witches and wizards, pushed past and weaved through obstacles, _all because_ —

“Wait!” he shouted again, “Please wait!” _I don’t think my heart could bear it if you didn’t._

Harry ducked into an alleyway after the man, but as he did, the man disappeared. All that was left was a dead end.

“You’ve _got_ to be kidding me,” he panted. Shoulders sagging, Harry couldn’t help it. He buried his face in his hands and began to laugh. “You’ve _got_ to be kidding me! You asshole!”

“You should refrain from calling people names so quickly,” a voice remarked wryly behind him.

Harry spun. “Tom—!” A pause. “You… you _are_ Tom, aren’t you…?”

“Which Tom do you mean?”

Harry swallowed to try and wet his throat. _Tom the snake… Tom Riddle… Tom_ Marvolo _Riddle—_ Voldemort _even—_ “My Tom,” he answered instead.

The man was silent.

“It’s okay, you know,” Harry continued, “even if… even if you’re not the most outstanding citizen ever, or if you’re not very nice, or if you haven’t figured out how to—“

The man must’ve gotten impatient, Harry mused, as he found himself pushed roughly against a wall and, well _cornered_ … literally. It must’ve looked odd should have any outsider taken a glance at them—two men in black cloaks, one significantly taller than the other, the smaller shoved against the brick wall of the alleyway, probably having some dispute. At _noon_.

Who _argued_ at _noon_?

_Well, apparently the Boy-Who-Lived and the Dark Lord Volde—_

_Oh_.

“ _You_ ,” Tom, Voldemort, Riddle, _whoever_ huffed, “are utterly _exhausting_ , Harry Potter.”

“Me?!” Harry laughed incredulously, “ _me_?! Really? Hypocritical much? You practically put a bounty on my head since age _one_ , make my school years _hell_ by trying to _kill me_ , repeatedly, finally succeed and force me to come _back to life_ to stop you, play dead for a couple years before getting close to me as a bloody _adorable_ _snake_ , cuddly and pouty and all what-not—then you _leave me_ , with a _letter_ , for five years—didn’t even bother to _owl_ me you prat!—and then-and then…”

“Are you angry?”

“Well, _kind of_!” He even had the gall to _chuckle_ , Harry grumbled.

“I’ll make it up to you.”

 _Ah…_ he couldn’t help it. Harry gave in and instead of pushing the larger body away from him, wrapped his arms around it and snuggled into the obviously high quality material. Surprisingly, the man was _warm_.

“If you don’t do a _bloody good job of it_ , I’m going to _make sure_ you’re dead this time. How stupid could you get? Of course I would’ve helped you get your body back! You didn’t need to leave for—”

Another chuckle, and then a low whisper, “Allow this one to… _apologize_ …”

_Because I missed you too._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> YAAAAAAAAAAAAS OKAY DONE! FINALLY!!
> 
> ...I admit to forgetting about it for awhile, until I flicked through my stories again and found it incomplete haha..................
> 
> Yeah u_u" sorry! But it's done now! :D
> 
> Thought it would be fitting to have this chapter in Harry's PoV ;D, and you know I couldn't resist putting in a letter LOL. Fun fact: this fic's old name used to be Each Letter, A Rose, because it was supposed to play out a lot differently. I was gonna make our fav. soul-searching Dark Lord send letters folded as roses in the duration he was away from Harry (y'know, courting process and what-not), but then I tossed that idea for a reason I can't remember!
> 
> ........yeah okay kthxbye.
> 
> Edit: Oh, and you can probably tell reading my works that I'm a big fan of kisses that aren't explicitly stated ;DD


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